


Teach Me How to Fight

by StarMaamMke



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angry smol, F/M, Tumblr Prompt, UST, protective tol, teach me how to fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 14:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11083614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarMaamMke/pseuds/StarMaamMke
Summary: Jim worries. Joyce has a special request.





	Teach Me How to Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madame_Ashley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Ashley/gifts).



Jim knew he should have pushed harder on the police escort issue. The reporters and curiosity-seekers were getting more bold every single day and with his duties, it was impossible to constantly patrol the General Store. She had caved on making sure her boys had extra protection outside of the school, but Joyce was just so hard-headed about accepting help from anyone. So unable to accept the fact that she had value as well.

_I’m nobody. Why don’t you use your department’s resources for something worthwhile?_

You are the only thing worthwhile, he had wanted to tell her, but thought better of it. The events of three months ago were still raw, emotions were still running high. She was under a lot of stress, raising two boys and working herself to the bone. Finding out that she had to worry about the feelings of an over-the-moon ex-boyfriend would just be too too much.

Instead, he expressed his regard by getting a rough idea of her schedule and trying his damndest to be close when she had to leave, in case anything happened. In the beginning, she had dodged reporters and ne’er-do-wells by taking the side door, walking through the alley, and heading to her car, which she had parked several blocks away. It had taken Jim a full two days to realize that she wasn’t just disappearing into thin air at the end of her shift. Initially, the ruse worked, but, in true evolutionary fashion, the parasites adapted.

Joyce emerged from the back alley and was taking her usual serpentine route through the three residential blocks that separated her from her tiny green car, with Jim maintaining a safe distance in a police cruiser. He was wary because rumor had it that Murray Bauman was in town. Jim had known Murray from his days in Indianapolis. The man had worked for The Indianapolis Star before his column went a little too far off of the deep end into various conspiracy theories, most of them involving JFK. A few of Jim’s friends at the Indy Police Department had ended up escorting the man from his office when The Star let him go. One of those friends had gotten a black eye for his trouble.

Anyway, Bauman started a show on a public access channel and put out a newsletter every quarter. He had a decent following and a nasty reputation as a dogged and aggressive pursuant of the truth. The moment Jim had an inkling the man was in town, he beefed up security on Hawkins Middle and High School, and begged Joyce to allow for at least one person to escort her from home to work.

_Jesus Christ, Joyce, I’ll even give you Flo. Just let me keep you safe._

_I can keep myself safe, thanks._

Infuriating. Jim was losing sleep, because on top of being Chief of Police and being the Lab’s Little Helper, keeping tabs on Joyce was like a third job. Never mind the fact that she had a lead foot and he should’ve ticketed her at least five times since his observations began.

Sure enough, Murray was in town and closing in on Joyce. Jim caught sight of the stout, bearded, balding man approaching Joyce with a frenetic, jittery sort of speed around Lafayette place. Usually, in these cases, Jim’s method would be to creep by with the cruiser and give out a warning signal. This would usually spook anyone trying to approach Joyce and he would step on the gas before she caught a glimpse of the person behind the wheel.

The last bit seemed superfluous, he knew she knew that he had a protective streak when it came to her, and that if there was a cop driving around warding off harassers, that it was probably him. But if they made eye contact, she would have a confirmation and a right (in her mind) to come storming into his office when he was neck deep in paperwork and a probable hangover and read him the riot act, which she was wont to do on occasion.

Usually a drive-by with a warning was the way he would do things. Usually. However, something he saw made him slam on the brakes, hop out of the cruiser and come barrelling towards Joyce and Murray:

Rather than the usual respectable distance Joyce was granted by reporters and snoops, Murray proceeded to approach her, hand outstretched, and grab her by the elbow just as she had her back turned, trying to unlock her car door. Joyce spun and gave a shriek of surprise; apparently, she had not been aware that Murray had been so close behind her. The man moved his grabby hand on her right shoulder and brought the other one up in a hushing motion, inches from her face. Jim could not make out what he was saying, but the threat was clear in his mind and it painted his vision red.

“Hey! Get the fuck away from her!” Jim shouted, before grabbing Murray by the shoulders from behind and shoving him forward against Joyce’s car. The smaller man managed to squirm out of Jim’s grasp and turned just in time to get the business end of a strong right hook. Murray’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground, clutching his jaw between two hands and swearing loudly. Jim kicked him in the side for good measure.

“Hop! Knock it off, before you kill somebody!” Joyce shouted feebly. He looked up from the quivering pile of coward on the pavement to the pale and shaken vision of loveliness that scolded him. Her face was frowning but there was a flash of gratitude in her large, dark eyes. He felt a familiar tightening in his chest as his eyes flew, as they invariably did, to her disapproving mouth. The moments stretched as they stood and regarded one another.

“I just wanted to ask her some questions!” Murray protested, breaking Jim’s contemplation. The man rose shakily to his feet and dusted the sleeves of his brown, corduroy jacket. “Christ almighty, this town is bizarre. I’ll get to the bottom of it, and you’ll hear from my lawyer, Mister…” Murray trailed off as he squinted to read Jim’s nameplate. “Chief Hooper,” he muttered.

Jim put a hand behind the man’s neck and shoved him forward. “Scram!”

After Murray retreated, Joyce crossed her arms under her chest and glared up at Jim. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You guess?! That man assaulted you!” She really was the dizzy limit sometimes. Jim never felt more wrong-footed in his life than he did when trying to get the approval of Joyce Mae Byers.

“Thank you, I’m sure,” Joyce corrected, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms to her sides, shoulders slouching in resignation. “It’s always you.”

“I am the Chief of Police.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned to open her car door.

“Wait.” Jim placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She turned and gazed upwards, her brown eyes softer than they had been moments before.

“Yes?”

“You have to see now that getting you someone to help is essential. What if I hadn’t been there?”

Joyce scoffed and leaned against the driver’s side door. Jim’s hand lingered on her shoulder, but she didn’t shrug it off.  “It wasn’t that serious.”

“It could have been. Jesus Christ, why can’t you take this seriously? You let us keep an eye on your kids.”

“Because they’re important!”

“You’re important! To Will, to Jonathan to… you matter to a lot of people, Joycie.” He was standing so close to her that daylight wouldn’t have been able to break between their bodies. His hand had moved from her shoulder to her cheek. Still, she did not tense up or push at him.

“Fine.”

Jim pulled back and blinked several times in astonishment before giving her a suspicious squint. “R-really? That’s great, I’ll head back to my office and start up the-…”

“No.”

“No?”

Joyce shook her head and smirked. “I don’t want your Keystone Cops following me bumbling after me. If you want to help me, you can teach me how to fight.”

_________

She was a quick study, always had been, and there were worse ways to spend a late afternoon than sparring in the Byers backyard. Her size was deceptive, and would be an asset if worst came to worst, Jim realized as she punched at his open palms. She was small, but she was fierce. Her arms were toned and tight with wiry strength from years of carrying and unloading pallets at work and she was fast.

To any onlooker, the tableau they presented would resemble a mouse taking on a lion, but once Jim had drilled her on the proper form and stance, he knew that Joyce would be formidable if the situation called for it. He prayed the situation never did, but he knew that people like Murray were not just going to disappear when a story as extraordinary as her family’s existed.

“Protect your face, Joyce,” he chided as she delivered a right hook to his palm.

“Protect yours; the ladies of this town will tear my eyes out if I mess it up.”

Jim stepped back and put his hands down. The remark stung. “I doubt it. I haven’t really been making… I’m not the hound dog you think I am. Not lately.”

Joyce’s defensive stance slipped and she looked up with a quizzical expression, her head tilted thoughtfully to one side. “Special lady at home?” There was an edge to her inquiry, and part of Jim hoped it was jealousy he detected. The sliver made him bold. Now or never.

“I’m looking at her.”


End file.
